Stop
by acetamide
Summary: A short scene depicting what happened directly after Snape's flight at the end of HBP. Warning: postHBP Note came 2nd place.


Woohoo! I'm back, after the admin here banned me for posting a songfic. During that time, I've written 2 challenges for 3rd Floor Corridor - this is the second one I wrote.

Option 2: Write a scene of what happened directly after Snape's flight in the end of HBP. Must be over 500 words.

* * *

"You killed Dumbledore."

That's the first thing Draco says when we Apparate to my house. Not, "Thanks for rescuing me," or "Do you think we were followed?"

I killed Dumbledore.

It sounds so much worse when said out loud. It makes it real.

"Technically, no, actually." I reply conversationally as I open the front door, beckoning him into the house. I try desperately to quash the sickened feeling I get when my eyes land on the old armchair that the late Headmaster gave to me one year for Christmas. Not that I ever liked it, of course. I hardly spend enough time here to _like_ the damn place.

"What's that meant to mean?" Draco asks, sitting down nervously in the same armchair. The action nearly causes an angry growl to rumble up through my throat, but I catch it and quickly turn it into a mirthless bark of laughter.

"Of course, you don't know…" I murmur more to myself than the terrified boy sitting opposite me. Sighing heavily, I sit down on the threadbare sofa and cradle my tired head in my equally distressed hands. The hands that killed Dumbledore.

Stop.

"When Dumbledore left the school with Potter tonight, he –"

"Potter went with him?" Draco interrupts suddenly, looking across at me sharply, where he had previously been staring at his hands. Realisation dawns on his pale face. "I _knew_ he had someone up on the Tower with him! There were two brooms – he must have been hiding!"

"Very astute, Draco." I reply dryly. "But as I was saying, they went to find a Horcrux. I assume you know what they are." He nods, and I am grateful for once that his father spared him no detail when explaining the Dark Lord's rebirth. I certainly have no desire to. "To reach the Horcrux, the Headmaster was forced to drink copious amounts of poison. Of course, it was a poison that would discourage the drinker from continuing – but that was where Potter was useful. He was there to force the poison down Dumbledore's throat so that they could retrieve the Horcrux."

"He _made_ Dumbledore drink it? He could have killed him!" Draco exclaims, appalled. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"_Could_ have killed him?" I ask quietly. For a few seconds he stares at me blankly, then suddenly his face loses all colour and his eyes grow wide.

"It was Potter, wasn't it? Potter killed the Headmaster." He whispered, horrified. I nod slowly. "But… I was there, I saw, when you cast it, he was pleading for you not to kill him…"

"No, Draco. A man as great as Dumbledore is not afraid of death." I explain gently, scared, unreasonably, that a louder word will shatter this boy's fragile mind. He has encountered more in one night than many people will do in their entire life. "He was pleading me to kill him."

Draco looks up at me, and I don't need Legilimency to see that he is confused beyond belief.

"But you just said that Potter killed him." He says quietly.

"In effect, he did. Had I not cursed him, he would have died such a slow and painful death. He was doomed to a long time of intense suffering. But he would not have taken his own life – he was too proud for that."

I'm talking about him in the past tense.

It's not real.

"I killed him painlessly and quickly. But Potter is the one who condemned him to death."

"I suppose you're lucky then, aren't you?"

"In what way?" I ask sharply, surprised by him sardonic tone. He offers me a half-smile.

"That you kind of needed to kill him. I mean, you'd have had to kill a perfectly healthy man otherwise. The Unbreakable Vow, remember?" he adds. As though I need reminding.

"Yes, I quite remember." I hiss back. "That was the only way to convince your mother that I was loyal to Voldemort. She won't settle for nothing, you know." I mutter, irritated. He gasps and I lookup, startled.

"You mean… you're not? Loyal to him, I mean? You really were working for Dumbledore?"

He looks at me as though the notion is completely ludicrous and well beyond his capacity for understanding.

But it's out now. He knows. Too much, in fact.

My hands itch to reach for my wand and hex him into oblivion. Another murder.

Stop.

"Congratulations on your conclusion, Draco, you've surpassed yourself."

"He wasn't lying! Dumbledore said you were spying for him, and he was telling the truth! You're a traitor, you've abandoned the cause! I should turn you in right now!" he finishes with a yell, standing abruptly and running to the door. But try as he might to open it, it simply won't budge. With a snarl of anger he bolts to the windows and tries in vain to smash them. I stare at the bookshelves as he runs through the house, attempting to escape. He finally storms back into the room and stops within an inch of drawing his wand.

"Let me out you traitor!" he roars viciously, spittle flying in all directions. "You deserve to die!"

"And so do you, because you're Marked, Draco!" I cry, standing too, so we're face to face. "You've done enough to land you in Azkaban just by accepting that Mark, and maybe even the Kiss with what you've done in His service!"

"So should you! You've done worse, you deserve to be locked up for your betrayal!"

"Dumbledore's protection prevents the Ministry from doing anything to me!"

_Liar_. His protection died with him.

"It's not fair! The Dark Lord never suspected you!" he howls and, with a ragged sob, falls back into the armchair, tears streaming down his face. I don't comment on his sudden change of subject.

"I suggest you get some sleep on the sofa. I doubt the other rooms will be suitable for any person to spend longer than five minutes in. We will discuss this further in the morning." I say quietly to the distressed figure huddling in the memento.

I open the door to my bedroom and glance at him once more over my shoulder, my Mark aching from His call a few hours ago. No doubt his is burning, too. I'm surprised he hasn't complained yet. He shouldn't be used to it like I am, be so ready to ignore the pain.

I close the door behind myself and lock it. One glance around my room and I see the Pensieve poking out from its hiding place under the bed.

Stop.

* * *

Thanks for reading - comments are much appreciated and very welcome.

smokey


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